


Not Friends, But Family

by unetetebrulee



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Families of Choice, M/M, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unetetebrulee/pseuds/unetetebrulee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Jake Jensen stayed at someone's bedside. (Plus one time everyone else stayed at his.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Friends, But Family

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptainKyburz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainKyburz/gifts).



> Dear CaptainKyburz: I'm not sure if this fic is (even) close to what you wanted, but I do hope you like it! :)  
> Endless thanks to coinin, for the cheering and beta, and to aurimae, for the patient hand-holding. You're the best.

1\. Alice (and Julie)

“Look at her,” Jake says—not for the first time and definitely not for the last—in hushed, reverent tones. “She has ten tiny, perfect fingers, and a tiny, perfect nose, and—” he breaks off and looks up at his sister. “She’s just—this is—I’m in love, right? She’s like, five minutes old and I’ve already fallen for her, this is only gonna get _worse_.”

“If by worse you mean she’ll have you wrapped around her pinky forever, then, yes, it’s gonna be pretty hard for you,” Alice says, a twinkle in her eyes. It’s the same look Jake’s grown up with, half mischief, half fondness. He watches her shift baby Julie in her arms until all the affection he feels for them is a painful knot in his chest, sweet and heavy.

“You know she’s gonna adore you too, right?” Alice says very softly. She looks between him and her daughter, and her mouth twists up in a sad smile. “Shit, Jake, I love you, but you have the fucking worst timing.”

It’s true, and he’s had some time to come to terms with it, but it still stings to hear her say it aloud.

“On the bright side,” Jake says, forcing his voice to sound as light as possible, “in just a few days I’ll be living on base and officially out of your hair.”

His sister snorts at him but has the kindness to not point out how full of shit she thinks Jake is.

“We’ll be here for you, nerd,” she says instead. “You can’t be playing superhero _all_ the time.”

Jake nods. He leans forward until he’s half on Alice’s hospital bed, lets his head fall on her collarbone and smiles when Julie’s hand curls in a fist around his thumb.

 

2\. Roque

This isn’t going to end well, Jake thinks.

What was supposed to be an easy recon mission—following a drug lord's trail across Canada, who the fuck does _that_?—had gone to shit when one of the bad guys had caught a whiff of his team. Now Bell is dead, Díaz is undergoing surgery thanks to that bullet that got her in the thigh, and Captain William Roque, who had been lent to them as extra support, is out cold in the base’s hospital wing. Heavily concussed, the doctors had said earlier, as if that hadn’t been obvious when Jake had had to drag him to safety. The right side of Roque’s face had been sliced open when he had shielded Jake and Díaz from the explosion that had killed Bell. Jake stares at the bandages and feels his stomach turn.

To make things worse, Roque’s CO has seen fit to come and and yell at him.

"Explain it to me again, soldier," Lieutenant Colonel Franklin Clay says. " _Slower_ ," he adds with a pointed look when Jake opens his mouth.

Jake snorts. He doesn't roll his eyes, but it's a close call. "I really don't know what else you want me to say, sir."

"My second-in-command goes to help your team on a mission," Clay points, and Jake can hear exasperation and anger and worry all rolled up in his voice, "and now he's unconscious and the doctors tell me he almost lost his fucking eye."

"May I remind you one of my teammates is _dead_?" Jake replies, and he hates that his voice wavers and cracks. Bell hadn’t been a stellar teammate, but that doesn’t mean Jake had been happy when he’d fallen down, two bullets to the chest, and hadn’t gotten up again.

Clay seems to realize he’s touched a nerve. His mouth remains flat and tight, but his glare softens a little. “Why are you still here, Corporal?” he asks, and it almost sounds gentle.

“I can’t do shit—sorry, sir—for Díaz.” Jake looks at Roque, quiet and still in his hospital bed. “I don’t think he liked us very much,” he continues. “But he saved our lives, at least mine and Marisa’s, and that counts as something to _me_. I can’t do shit for her,” Jake repeats, his voice going soft, “but he had my back out there, and I _can_ wait for him. Sir.”

There’s a long moment of silence where Jake thinks Clay is going to yell at him again. Instead, Clay sighs and puts a heavy hand on Jake’s shoulder.

“Try to get some rest,” Clay says, with the kind of resignation in his tone that means he can tell Jake will choose to ignore him if he sees it fit. He doesn’t push, though, which Jake appreciates, and then he leaves the room. Jake can hear his voice a moment later, gruff and indistinct, coming from the hallway.

Two weeks after Captain Roque is released, Jake gets orders to join Clay’s team as their new tech guy.

 

3\. Pooch

Pooch is the _worst_ patient ever.

“You’re the worst patient ever,” Jake says, because his heart is beating like a drum against his ribs, and his adrenaline is running high, and his brain-to-mouth filter went away at least five hours ago. 

Pooch grunts and tries to bat him away with his good arm. It’s a sad, weak effort and Cougar, kneeling at Pooch’s other side across from Jake, pins him down easily. Jake clucks his tongue at them and goes back to test Pooch’s dislocated shoulder as carefully as he can. The back of a van doesn’t make for an ideal sick bay and Clay’s shaky driving makes it even worse. Jake can hear Roque shouting— _You’re gonna kill us all, you dumb fuck!_ —from the front seat, and he exchanges a look with Cougar, who’s pale and grim but looks back at him steadily.

“I have just enough leverage to put his arm back in place,” Jake tells Cougar, “but you’ll have to hold him for me. Things are bumpier enough without him flailing around.”

“ _Him_ is right here,” Pooch groans. Any other time Jake would have cracked a joke at him for being petulant, but Pooch’s voice sounds tight and laced with pain, so he just looks back at Cougar and waits for confirmation. 

Cougar doesn’t reply—or, at least, Jake amends in the privacy of his own brain, he doesn’t reply with words. He nods gravely, though, and Jake adjusts his grip on Pooch’s shoulder. 

Pooch only cries out once, right when Jake can feel the pop of bones sliding back into place, and then passes out. His face is drenched in sweat, his mouth pinched in pain, but his breaths don’t come as shallow as before. Cougar cradles Pooch’s head carefully and holds him half-propped on his lap, while Jake does his best to hide the tremor of his hands. He could have fucked up, he knows, and then Pooch’s shoulder would have been messed up too. Jake can’t really think about it without wanting to throw up. 

There’s a soft touch on his hand and Jake looks up to meet Cougar’s eyes. Cougar’s face is concerned, but his fingers—long, strong—are sure and reassuring on Jake’s skin. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Jake pants. He shuffles forward, wincing when the van swerves too fast, and reaches out to wipe the sweat off Pooch’s forehead. “Hey,” Jake says after a bit, forcing his voice to sound light, “have I told you about the time Jolene taught me to bake lemon bars?”

Cougar shakes his head—it’s a lie, and if Jake were braver he’d kiss him right now. “Tell me,” Cougar says, and Jakes begins to talk.

 

4\. Clay

“Jensen,” Clay says, “why am I handcuffed to this bed?”

To his credit, he sounds fairly calm and stern for a guy who had been too wrecked by pneumonia to even talk not two days ago. Still, it’s not as if he couldn’t explode at any given moment.

“Doctor’s orders!” Jake replies brightly, shifting on his chair until he finds a better position and turning a page of his magazine. _Learn The Secrets Of Authentic Mexican Food!_ the type advertises cheerfully. “Well, not the handcuffing part,” Jake confesses, not looking away from a recipe for _tamales_. “But you’re supposed to rest until you’re fully recovered—you’ve been stuffed full of antibiotics, sir—and we all know you’re worse than a child when sick. Hence, handcuffs!” He beams at Clay, who’s turned an interesting shade of indignant-purple.

“Is this mutiny, soldier?” Clay asks, his eyes narrowed into slits.

“Nah, sir. I’m just keeping an eye on you until it’s time for Pooch to play nurse.”

Clay opens his mouth, no doubt to say a string of very uncharitable things about Jake, Pooch and the rest of his team, but he gets caught in a coughing fit that leaves him doubled over and weak as a kitten. Jake pats his arm distractedly and begins to read an article on how to recognize a perfectly ripe tomato.

 

5\. Cougar

Jake wakes up with a crick in his neck.

“How bad?” a voice—Cougar’s—says.

Everything comes back into focus, like a punch to the stomach: there’s a crick in his neck because he’d been sleeping while sitting in a too small chair, with his head resting on the bed next to Cougar’s hip. Cougar, who had been knocked down at the end of their last mission—they had just barely dragged him to a safe house and patched him up as best as they could. Cougar, who had been silent—that hadn’t been new—and still—that _had_ been new, and Jake had held his hand tightly and refused to let go.

“Could be worse,” Jake replies, forcing the words past the rush of _you’reokayyou’reokayyou’reokay_ chanting in his brain. “You got a nice shiner that’ll probably get worse in a day or two, and a few bruised ribs for your troubles. But as long as you play nice you’ll be fine in a bit.”

Cougar frowns at him, like he’s trying to figure something out, and Jake tries not to fidget, feeling stripped down to the bone under his eyes. He had been the one who saw Cougar falling through the roof of the warehouse, and he’d yelled and run after him, leaving Pooch and Clay to cover his back while Roque secured the payload. It had been unprofessional, utterly stupid, and the whole team could have paid for it.

 _This is it_ , Jake thinks and takes a deep breath.

“I’m in love with you,” he tells Cougar.

Cougar’s frown clears a bit. He’s still looking at Jake like he looks at crosswords when they have some downtime, but there isn’t rejection in his eyes so Jake is counting that as a win. After a long moment of staring—Jake has to bite on his tongue and sing very loudly in his head to stop himself from babbling—Cougar nods, short and slow. Jake knows him enough to read acknowledgment in it, but also a request for an explanation.

“I don’t know—” he begins, but, “no, wait, in fact—I’m pretty sure I thought you were the hottest guy I’d ever seen when I met you, but that’s not—I’m not talking about that, Coug. It’s more like… I _know_ you. I’m not asking for a house by the sea and a puppy, it’s— _fuck_ ,” Jake closes his eyes. “I know why this is a bad idea. It’s unprofessional, and there’s DADT, and you can punch me in the face later if I’m making stuff awkward, but—Coug, I have to _ask_.”

“ _Idiota_ ,” Cougar says. He’s smiling at Jake and— _oh_ —that’s his Voice, the fond one Jake’s been hearing for years, over comms or when Cougar had been the one appointed to remind Jake that his body needs to eat and rest and stay hydrated and, no, another hour of coding wouldn’t be a good idea— _por Dios, deja eso ahora mismo y vete a dormir_. And then he reaches out, his hand curling in the collar of Jake’s shirt, and he pulls Jake in. For a moment they pause like that, their mouths hovering a breath from each other, and then Cougar tilts his head up, kisses Jake like he’s been doing it forever.

“Oh,” Jake says when Cougar lets him go. He’s still beaming when Pooch comes in to announce their breakfast is ready.

 

+1. Jensen

Contrary to popular belief, Jake isn’t the one guy in the team who spends the most time in medical. Being the motormouth tech who likes brightly colored t-shirts is apparently enough of a cliche that the bad guys tend to forget he’s also six-foot tall and a HTH expert. Jake is an adrenaline junkie and his plans often consist of blowing up ops from the inside, but he’s level-headed enough not to risk his life unnecessarily—that, and he has very good reasons to stay alive.

Right now, however, it’s one of those times where he finds himself waking up in a hospital bed, groggy and aching all over. His tongue is a slab of sandpaper in his mouth and everything looks fuzzy around the edges—he hopes his glasses have survived in one piece. When he tries to move his fingers, he finds someone’s already holding his hand.

 _Did we win?_ he wants to ask, but it only comes out as a cough.

There’s a shuffle at his side and then something cold—an ice chip—touching his lips gently.

“Open,” Cougar says, and Jake obeys, letting the ice slip into his mouth and melt on his tongue. It washes some of the cardboard-feeling away, and Jake opens his mouth again immediately after swallowing. Cougar chuckles, feeds him a few more chips, and after a bit he hands Jake his glasses. 

Jake’s propped on what feels like a wall of fluffy pillows, and that means he has a pretty good view of the room. Pooch is asleep at Cougar’s left side, his head hanging backwards. Across them, Roque’s also sleeping—he’s more scarred than ever, curled up on himself with his arms crossed firmly over his chest. There’s no sign of either Clay or Aisha, but Jake figures he’ll have time to worry about that later. 

They’ll all have to talk—about Max, about betrayals, about what comes next for them—at some point.

For now, though, he looks back at Cougar, who has a smile tugging at his mouth. “Hey,” Jake finally manages to croak, "did we win?"

"What do you think?" Cougar replies, and he leans in to give him a kiss.


End file.
